


On Wounded Birds & Europe

by ElizaStyx



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Fluff, Love, Misha's POV, Multi, Poetic, Polyamory, Schmoop, all the cockles love, also a wink at all the shippers, i am grossily emotional about his words, jibcon6, okay?, poetic bullshit, romantic, this is basically it, we are the garbage tribe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 11:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3976537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizaStyx/pseuds/ElizaStyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has been the wounded bird in Jensen's hands so many times he knows that the man would never crush him. He knows that Jensen would straighten his feathers and wash the pain away. He knows because that is what Jensen always does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Wounded Birds & Europe

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously it's inspired by [this](http://the-rising-demonmistress-of-styx.tumblr.com/post/119313504060/ksenianovak-misha-talking-about-jensen) and [this](https://twitter.com/mishacollins/status/600251105008726016). I'm okay.

Jensen cares for Misha, it's a fact ingrained in reality. He and Jared, they may be assholes sometimes but Jensen never crosses the line. He knows where Misha's lines lie and Misha knows that Jensen cares for him because that's what all the shared whispers and fleeting touches say. Misha is not as fragile a man as he used to be, except for maybe when he is but these moments these days are rare and they never last enough to see the sun set in mourning.

They never last because Jensen is amongst the people who care.

It's not that the others aren't enough, his family, his life-long friends, no. It's just that from this simple knowledge that Jensen is out there thinking about him and that he always will be there comes so much joy, comes the unshaken affection and love that makes warmth spread in Misha's chest and hug him like a fluffy blanket.

Misha does love the madness that his life sometimes becomes but he also needs the stable ground under his feet, a shore that will survive every storm untouched. While Vicky is his calm haven, one he can hide in, Jensen is the beacon that guides him back home safely, a light that shines through the thickest fog and the darkest night. With Jensen around Misha knows he can never get lost. 

This is why what he says on the stage is mostly a lie.

He has been the wounded bird in Jensen's hands so many times he knows that the man would never crush him. He knows that Jensen would straighten his feathers and wash the pain away. He knows because that is what Jensen always does. 

He also lies because Jensen in fact does have one annoying quality - he loves so completely, so overwhelmingly fully that Misha feels bad for not being able to love him back quite as much, for having too small a heart. However, he knows that Jensen doesn't see it that way, he knows that Jensen is grateful for every tiny spark of affection that is out there for him. This is just who Jensen is.

Misha wishes the world wasn't constructed in such a way that he isn't allowed to freely paint the import and beauty of what they have across the walls of Rome, he can't scream how much it means to him outside of the plush walls of their room. He wishes he could be as bold and shameless as their love is but for now there is just one thing he can do - he can send a message wrapped up in thick layers of cypher only a few fully understand. And maybe the world can guess what's hidden beneath the cocky innocence of his words, maybe some birds may chirp the truth but that's okay since they love enough to see it.

So Misha writes, a bit of a dirty joke, a silly wink at singing finches but most importantly a warm, clear note that disturbs the calm silence. He means everything that stands behind these words, the physical attraction and the attraction of heart, the beauty within and the one outside. And he knows the ones who can see will smile and sing their own tribal tune but the melody doesn't scare him, he also knows it by heart.

Their song lulls him to sleep far into the night when all the lights go out and just the touch is enough to find home warm and right by his side. It's funny, he thinks, how easy it is to feel it and taste it when everything else around is alien, so far from familiar and known. But then again, he realises that every light shines brighter in the darkness, after all.

In Europe his wings are never broken.


End file.
